And yet so far
I nearly have you in my grasp
But you manage to slip away
I know you like me
But when it comes down to it
I'm too shy
And you're too slow.
Why is the first move always so difficult?
For even when you know the answer
The question eases it's way to the tip of your tongue,
Only to be swallowed back down
To the pit of your stomach where the butterflies fly.